Drinking Alone, and Suicide

So, I didn't do anything over the weekend. I was supposed to get drunk with KC and Susan and my sister, but it never happened. There's still a little alcohol left, but that's sad to drink alone. I should be doing my social essay, but I'd rather not. I hate social.
I took a stab to my feelings today. On Sunday, I signed up for this writer's help email to come every week for the next few weeks. I asked a question (something like "why don't you just tell the secrets to writing without making people pay for it") and, expecting an automated response, I went on with my business. A few minutes later, I got an email back that said, "When you write your novel, you wouldn't just print it and give it to people for free, would you?"
I guess they do have real people there. Anyways, I took it as the guy (I know it's a guy because the name he used was Brandon) being snippy. Maybe that's just the way I am. He didn't insult me, but here I sat, allowing myself to be snippy to others, not thinking how they would react. I do know the answer to my question, but I just wanted the information for free because I am really desperate to finish writing this damn book and get started on the other two (yes there are AT LEAST two I want to finish before I make the grand exit from my teen years - I know, I know, there's still two and a little more years, but I want them out of my head and onto paper, I don't care if I sell them or they get published; I just want to look at a completed manuscript and be proud of something I've done).

Now that that's off my mind ('cuz I knew it would bug me if I didn't vent) I can start onto better topics.
I had to walk to school today, and you might not think that's so bad considering that I live only five blocks from school. You know what? It was -20 degrees, and we're talking Celsius, baby. That's effing cold. At lunch I walked back home since none of my friends were actually at school. I walked back so I would only have to be alone for half an hour (and that was when most other kids had class) and I read. Then 110 minutes later, I walked home. I determined that KC was actually sick, and therefore forgave her for not driving me to school (as if that's something to get mad about). During Biology I made a mental list of all the things I have to buy/do this weekend.

• Buy Hair dye (bleach, black, and purple)
• Dye hair
• Buy foundation that actually matches my skin tone (what was I thinking letting Celeste help my find foundation?)
• Maybe buy mascara - that's right, I'm a seventeen year old girl that doesn't wear mascara.
• Buy batteries.
• etc.

Also during Biology, I was having fun learning. I'm such a loser. Let me rephrase. I enjoyed this particular Biology class. We learned about the human brain. Tomorrow we get to dissect a sheep's brain.
At first I was iffy. I mean, last year I did fine when we dissected the lamb heart and lungs, and the brain is turning out to be much more interesting (not just ventricles and pumps, but instead what controls movement, senses, hormones, etc.). Two weekends ago, I guess at the beginning of February, I was watching TV and took advantage of the wide range of channels my grama has. I saw on the documentary channel a documentary called "Suicide".
Perhaps it was my history with the subject that drew me to it, or if not, I don't know, but I started watching it. There were parts that affected me more than what I'm about to write, but this was pretty strange. I saw part of an autopsy when the coroner (or whatever he's called) cut the brain out of a man. That was really kind of gross, but I sat through it. I guess I'm a little less squeamish about that kind of stuff than I used to be. But that's the reason I was thinking about not doing the dissection.
I think I'll do it. Some concrete example to what we've been learning could help me, yeah.

Yesterday I called Caitlyn. I guess it's been since she's been dating Taylor that I've had an almost tension with her. I know why, but she doesn't.
Anyways, when we were talking, she told me that she would be, for the third weekend in a row, visiting our dad's house (evidently, where Taylor lives) because our step sister, Katrina would be visiting. That too hit me. Since Kass moved with my dad (the first time) I have always felt that Katrina was the older {or in Touer's case, the younger} sister that none of my siblings ever got but always wanted. This fear, or, as I've feared, realization, was only made more paranoid by the words of my youngest sister whom I used to be really close to.
During the conversation, she thought I made fun of her, so she made the joke that I wasn't ready to date boys, or that boys didn't like me.
I hated her when she said that, but since I am almost completely incapable of showing how I feel when I feel it, I went on joking with her. She hung up on me, which pissed me off.
She had said what I had been thinking all my life, but she didn't say the reason. I had kept that close to my heart hoping that nobody knew or cared, but I knew better than my wishes. Boys don't like me because I'm too fat.
And that is definitely fixable, but unfortunately for me, I take insults badly (that's why I'm glad my siblings were never verbally vicious) and tend to do stupid things. Last night, which was the first time this year and the first time in almost five months, I took out my trusty metal box equipped with gauze, band aids, and a razor.
Needless to say, I regretted it. I steered clear of the wrist, as I have learned that that would cause suspicion among my friends, and just as a person with a self destructive habit does, I've learned how to lie; both to others and myself.
It wasn't her words that hurt me truly (though it is painful to have all the terrible horrible things you've ever thought about yourself acknowledged by another person), but it was the fact that she made me feel like shit. Only a select few people have made me feel like that, to drive me to (what would seem like extremes) my way of coping (though I have been doing well), and each person I have hated for a long period of time. I'll forget what she said eventually, and act like nothing happened, or I'll forget and not forgive for a little while. But I know I can never tell her the reason, for a couple reasons.

1. She wouldn't understand. Yes I know it's cliche, but it's true. The only person in my family that I would talk to about that is Laura, and she's going through a whole bunch of shit or something, because I still see scars, and not the faded purplish ones, the fresh pink kind. I don't want her to go through what I did, but I know she is. I can't do anything because I know that when I was going through that, I didn't want anyone to acknowledge that I was even doing it.
2. I haven't forgiven her for stealing pages of my diary in which I said I had a relapse with cutting. That happened only two years ago. She hurt me because she didn't let me have my peace and not talk about it. I was ashamed, and the only reason I can type all this is because I can't see your face.
3. When I wrote my suicide note, I addressed it to her. Not my brothers or Laura, but Caitlyn. I thought we were close, obviously close enough for me to write a letter pleading that I was sorry and I loved her, but maybe my insecurities are just taking over now.

Maybe I just needed to get this out once and for all.
I never told her about the note, though I did tell her about the attempt. I told Laura too, but surprisingly, neither of them seemed really phased.
One day, I'll pull a Touer and write a semi-autobiographical story about it. I know it'll just come out sounding melodramatic, but maybe then I can have some peace. :)